


Daisy Voice

by depresane



Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Prison, Rare Relationships, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-16 21:29:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16961823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/depresane/pseuds/depresane





	Daisy Voice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AvandraTheMarySueSlayer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvandraTheMarySueSlayer/gifts).



In a prison cell with no windows and a wall of metal bars sat a pale blue half-orc, his thoughts as dark as the room where he was locked. A voice was speaking to him; was it madness or a deity? He ignored it. He wanted to sleep.  
He heard a door unlock and open. Listening to the sounds, he identified three pairs of feet.  
Guards approached a cell in front of his. They led a gnome inside and gave him a sleeping bag.  
“Oh, thank you! I was worried I would be sleeping with ants but I get to sleep with ants _and fleas_. Have a good one, sir Authority.”  
The guards didn’t answer, leaving the merry man alone with the half-orc.  
The rock gnome’s beard was shaved in the middle, his eyebrows as firm as two bridges. He turned to the prison-mate as if he noticed him just then.  
“Hello,” he began, “have you also violated the night-time silence?”  
The half-orc glared at him.  
“No? I assume that’s a no. Of course, you don’t have a sleeping bag. Silly me.” He was strolling continuously from one side to the other. “Whoa, the quality of muck over here is astounding! Don’t you agree?”  
He kept glaring at the gnome with no reply.  
“Mm, such remarks don’t seem to amuse you. Fine, I’ll restrain myself. What is your name?”  
Still nothing.  
“Sign to me if you’re mute, pal.”  
“I’m not mute.”  
“Then, what’s your name?”  
He cleared his throat. “Dorn.”  
“Dorn! Delightful! That’s a fitting name for a distinguished artisan with pinchable cheeks.”  
“They can’t be pinched.”  
“Then, I would hold them in a cold winter day, with my hands shaped like a broad copper chalice with floral ornaments. My name is Glint Gardnersonson. Yes, there are two ‘son’s in my last name. My ancestor, Heuvelstroom Gardnersonson, shared his first name with Heuvelstroom Gardnerson, so to distinguish him…”  
Dorn sought any other sound in his surroundings: dripping water, creaking tree, anything. But there was only Glint. Only and beyond only. Walking Glint. Bouncing Glint. Gesturing Glint. Dorn completely forgot about the voice that tormented him just a while ago. Glint’s voice overwhelmed his thoughts. He sounded like pink and white daisies, like sea waves crushing against a cliff, like a cheerful goat that tasted leaves for the first time, like a prophet and storyteller raised by a jester.  
“…The inn hired me once to beat their carpets. I lost an expensive one to the wind. I ran after it but couldn’t keep up. Then, I… kinda forgot to return to the inn. Never did, in fact. Still, the owner found me and demanded reparation.”  
“Hrrrmmgr,” Dorn had enough.  
“Yes-yes, it’s not cleric-like to flee from responsibility like that.”  
“Hhhhhhhmmmmh!”  
Glint understood. “Oh. Not used to talkative fellows, I see. I like that growl. Powerful.”  
He turned around to examine a stone wall. However, the activity didn’t keep him silent for long, as he started mumbling, “Doesn’t enjoy our wit, doesn’t enjoy anecdotes. What a pity. He looks adorable. If he braided his hair, I would faint from euphoria.”  
“Gnome.”  
“I can’t – help it! It’s not like I have a lock to put on my mouth. But even then, I would still be talking except you wouldn’t be able to understand me. Trust me, I’ve been facing this since forever.”  
Dorn snapped, “I slaughtered people.”  
Glint froze.  
“Whole villages and towns. Regardless of age and capabilities. I watched them bleed to death.”  
“Do you regret?”  
“What?”  
“The crime.”  
“I haven’t brought myself here. I was sold; that’s the crime.”  
Glint lowered his hands as if he was draining. “Oh.” He shuffled his feet to a corner, far away from the half-orc. He sat, leaning his shoulder against the wall.  
Dorn gazed at him. Despite darkvision, he lost the gnome from his sight.  
There was no sound.  
  
No daises, no sea, no goats, no fables.  
  
_**I assume you have made your decision.**_  
That voice again. Dorn shivered. Something bitter stuck in his throat.  
And then.  
“Are you certain you want him to be your foe?”  
Dorn jumped, straightened his knees and turned. A short silhouette in his cell appeared out of nowhere, as if cut out from the three-dimensional space.  
“How did you get here?” he roared.  
“I have my methods. So does Glint. Repent, and he shall sneak you out; stay stubborn, and you’re left with the demon that is targeting you.”  
He tensed his mouth. A demon. That was to whom the voice belonged. Intending to take him as their warlock or perhaps their blackguard.  
_Why not_ , he thought. _If I get to be free and commit slaughter again, why shouldn’t I accept them?_  
But the other voice. That peculiar beard. That broad smile.  
His palms sweating.  
His legs weak.  
His torso heavy.  
“Mother…”  
He lost balance and fell on the dusty floor.  
  
The door woke him up.  
The guards. _Oh no._  
The half-orc crawled upwards and rushed to the bars. His body thudding against metal made Glint take a glance.  
The gnome was frowning.  
Dorn stared into his eyes. He had no idea what kind of facial expression he was making. He couldn’t even speak.  
And yet, Glint calmed like a sea after storm. He winked briefly.  
Guards, not the same ones, pushed him gently. The gnome left.  
Dorn sat down, holding on to the wink he was given.  
  
He couldn’t guess how much time passed when the door opened again. But the sound differed; it was clearly not meant to be heard. Next was the metal gate, with its lock sliding off as if on its own, falling – no, being placed on the floor.  
A hat appeared in Dorn’s hands. It was a traditional gnome garment, a suede cone. He wanted to ask what it did, but upon realizing his question might give Glint away, he donned the hat and waited.  
He saw his forearms vanish.  
“Of course,” he thought, stood up and walked carefully.  
  
He escaped with barely any difficulty; he only had to step aside so that a guard wouldn’t bump into him.  
Outside, Glint emerged from nothing and whispered, “Do they have anything of yours? And I mean _yours_ , not taken from corpses.”  
“Nay.”  
“We must leave the city, then. Port Llast, then Baldur’s Gate by boat. Is that fine?”  
“Kind of.”  
“Mm. Remind me to discuss that later.”  
Glint marched fast and steadily. Dorn followed him effortlessly. He felt like a child captivated by the melody of a flute.


End file.
